


To See the Light

by Inkblot9



Series: Witchy Pines [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Anxiety, Curiosity, Developing Relationship, Doubt, M/M, Magic, Reconciliation, Trust, Trust Issues, Understanding, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 08:58:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13948191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkblot9/pseuds/Inkblot9
Summary: In which Stanford officially declares himself a witch in training, and Fiddleford isn't quite sure how to respond to any of it.





	To See the Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [guesso](https://archiveofourown.org/users/guesso/gifts).



Nine times out of ten, the low, chanted words echoing in the halls of the Shack were completely alien to Fiddleford’s ears. At least three times out of those nine, there was a reasonable possibility that those syllables were quite literally _alien._  

But the voice that carried them, deliberately, hauntingly, was—despite everything—still human, still familiar. Deeply, achingly so.

“ _…and I believe this is where my pursuit of the unknown is leading me now, towards the obvious scientific curiosities as well as the viable therapeutic benefits of adopting a magickal practice…_ ”

He’d nearly leapt out of his beard the first time he’d heard Stanford string such words together, all in one sentence, all in one breath. Somehow this was casual teatime conversation to him, talk of unearthing ancient accursed texts, talk of experimenting with crystals and charms as if they were standard material in the BU chem lab.

 “ _…and, well, if I am to be devoting myself to the study of witchcraft, I suppose that makes me a witch as well!_ ”

How he had chuckled warmly as he’d said it, as if he’d been eagerly waiting to release the words for some time. How amusement, excitement, relief, and sheer _glee_ had mingled in his voice, that voice that somehow remained so rich, so captivating after so many years of strain. 

How could he speak of this with such enthusiasm? How could he possibly be willing— _desiring!_ —to reinvest himself in forces the likes of which had nearly been the end of them and everything they loved? Clearly Ford had not forgotten the horrors that had befallen them before, if the number of nights that he still awoke sweating and screaming—if he got any sleep at all—were any indication. 

Worst of all was his inability to form powerful words of his own, to snap the mad old fool back into sense, to again remind him of Icarus and the importance of what lay on solid ground. Maybe, he thought bitterly, he had already fallen under his devilish spell, beguiled by hopeless nostalgia and the undeniable enduring charm of his old friend’s mannerisms. 

Months passed, and with that time an unspoken tension grew, a latent bitter energy that made itself apparent not just to those training themselves in sensing such things but to everyone in its vicinity.

As weighty as that apprehension was, oftentimes the great empty loneliness of one simple man in a house built for rich folk and richer parties was greater. Some nights the companionship of a few woodland critters and artificial intelligences was shy of satisfactory. Those were the nights that Fiddleford found himself at the doorstep of another house he’d used to call home, to be welcomed in graciously by abuelita Ramirez or a degree more begrudgingly by a certain Mr. Mystery Senior. 

A fondness buried in his tumult of memories was getting the better of him this particular night. He wandered the shack in a wistful daze, tracing back over old footprints and in his mind, maneuvering like a sleepwalker long after the other present members of the household had retired to their bedchambers.

It was a pulsing golden glow, permeating into the hall through a cracked door, that called Fiddleford back to full senses and raised hackles. As he should have expected, there was one Pines yet still astir. 

As Fiddleford stood, only mildly trembling, before the source of the eerie light, he could make out the voice of the man he knew was behind it, speaking in deliberate, practiced rhythm. 

Somehow, he could tell that he had heard these particular words before. Whatever it was that Ford was casting, it had become ritual for him, one repeated enough times that it inspired recognition even in someone who was avoiding it (and whose memory still left something to be desired).

Then all at once, the light faded. The next sound Fiddleford heard was the creak of the door as it swung open to reveal the old witch himself.

“Fiddleford,” Stanford uttered, with that startled owlish look on his face that suggested that even his enormous brain was struggling to figure out what to say. 

“Stanford,” Fiddleford acknowledged, attempting to appear sane and put-together though unable to meet his old partner’s eyes.

A minute or two transpired in silence, only broken with Ford’s deep, resigned exhale. He ran a hand through his hair, looking almost nervous, as he began to speak again. “Look, F…I know you haven’t exactly been…completely comfortable with my, ah, shift in habits—”

“Puttin’ it mildly, that is,” Fiddleford snorted.

“—and your concerns are entirely valid. I was so caught up in my research, thinking I had found a meaningful new path for myself, that I didn’t stop to think how it might affect you—or anyone—in a less positive manner.” Ford lowered his head apologetically. “I’ve been insensitive, and for that I apologize. If my pursuing witchcraft and sorcery does more harm than the good I intended, then I will absolutely cease and move on.”

Fiddleford couldn’t help but smile slightly at that; at least it hadn’t taken thirty years for the stubborn scientist to come to his senses this time.

“But,” Ford interjected as Fiddleford opened his mouth to reply, “before I call off my study completely, there is one thing I wish to ask of you.”

Fiddleford’s knee kicked into its anxious dance routine as his mind involuntarily swarmed with the dangerous, terrifying possibilities that could be behind that request. Just what had Ford been learning in those magic books of his—?

“Give me a chance,” Ford said. “Maybe if I showed you something up close…something simple, something harmless…showed you how it all works, how it can be used for good, and why it all means so much to me…” He tugged at his turtleneck collar with one hand, as if admitting emotional connection to anything was still a shade embarrassing. “…Maybe that would ease your worries.”

Fiddleford gathered the strength to look back at the other man directly, and found his eyes reflecting an honest vulnerability, a look that had been so rare on him before but was beginning to show itself more and more since surviving the end of the world. That, if nothing else, was something that Fiddleford felt he could trust.

At last he replied with a resigned nod. “’T’wasn’t like I was plannin’ to get up to much else tonight,” he said, attempting to douse his lingering anxiety in humor.

Stanford broke into a smile that reminded his old friend of so many other instances of (rather adorable) excitability over his discoveries. He motioned for Fiddleford to follow him as he stepped back into the study and seated himself on the worn couch.

“So just what’re ya plannin’ t’show me, anyhow?” Fiddleford asked over the creaking of the sofa springs and his back as he sat down.

“What I had in mind is a healing light spell,” Ford replied. “One of the first I learned since committing myself to something other than the curses of the Gravity Falls woods. It’s nothing fancy, but I’ve found the energy to be quite comforting. In fact, I—”

“G-go on then,” Fiddleford stammered, cutting Ford off before he could lose himself in a monologue. Whatever this was, he wanted it to be as quick as possible. Anticipation was never good for his nerves, after all.

“Ah—right.” Ford cleared his throat. He opened his right palm in front of him, and his left hand fell gently on his companion’s shoulder. 

“I begin with a deep, cleansing breath,” he said, then slowly inhaled and exhaled accordingly, closing his eyes in concentration. “I tune myself to my personal energy, feel it naturally flow through me, as I speak, as I breathe. I focus my will to guide that energy into my hand…let it build there…then envision it beginning to spread…let it radiate off my fingers…

 _Fulgere…fulguere…o_ _ps cura…ops luce_.”

Ford snapped his fingers and snapped open his eyes, and then his free hand was aglow with warm golden light. He waggled his fingers and the light moved with him, casting dancing shadows around the otherwise darkened room. Fiddleford stared at this display with his jaw agape in mesmerized awe.

“It doesn’t look like you have any minor injuries, else I’d offer to channel this to heal you,” Ford chirped. “Still, pretty neat, eh?” 

He brought his hand before his partner’s face. “See,” he murmured, “I have complete control, and it’s all perfectly safe. The last thing I ever want to do is hurt you. I promise.”

Fiddleford raised one hand to his chin, scratching his beard in thought as he gazed upon the, admittedly, beautiful result of Ford’s spell. It was then that he realized something.

This light was not a separate entity from Stanford. It was a part of him, the energy of his very being. It was a manifestation of all his passions, all his heart, all the mistakes he was trying so desperately to mend.

Fiddleford breathed, slowly and deliberately, just as his partner had taught him to do many years ago when facing his greatest fears. He allowed the magic in the air to surround him, to caress him, to reassure him.

For the first time since this had all began, he felt truly and completely  _safe_. 

Not everything would be resolved in that moment, but in that moment that he knew beyond all his doubts that he could trust this light.

**Author's Note:**

> Ford's spell was inspired by the healing light incantation from Tangled, and then threaded through some bullshit Latin in true Gravity Falls fashion!
> 
> [original tumblr post with accompanying art; peek at the 'witchy pines au' tag for more of our thoughts on this whole thang](http://inktheblot.tumblr.com/post/171408622528/to-see-the-light-something-of-a-companion-piece)


End file.
